


Same

by distance



Category: League of Legends RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 01:36:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6100546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distance/pseuds/distance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Why didn't you tell me?" Sneaky had expected his voice to sound annoyed, even mad, but instead it just sounds fragile.<br/>Meteos sighs. "I wanted to," he says. "I didn't really know how."<br/>"Maybe I'm talking crazy but a simple 'oh hey Sneaky I'm gonna quit the team' probably would have worked. Maybe then I wouldn't have been fucking blindsided by your announcement."<br/>Meteos laughs. It doesn't sound pleasant. It sounds like the laugh he makes when he's found himself caught out on the other side of the map, in the enemy's jungle, with his flash down. "Same."<br/>[ON HIATUS]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Last Chipotle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set in season 5 when Meteos quits, and Hai becomes jungler. I'm going to do my best to stay true to canon (REVERSE SWEEPS) but yeah. Warnings for OOC but I wanted Sneaky to be an angsty little bitch. Oh, and unbetaed, so forgive me.

 

Sneaky's lying on his bed in the darkness, the soft glow from his phone screen the only thing illuminating the room. He has his phone raised above his face, and scrolls inanely through the endless reddit comments. He knows he shouldn't check reddit, especially after losing the past... however many games it is now, but he can't help it. It's almost like he has to, to feel the small stirrings of anger and hurt from strangers that don't know shit. Something feels empty about it though. There's no one to laugh with him about especially stupid comments.

He ignores the soft grumble of his stomach. He's used to the background noise of discomfort, from hours and hours of long solo q games. Being too tired and lazy to leave his chair. Sometimes he'd beg Balls or Lemon to get him Chipotle. But they've all left for dinner. The Last Supper. He's the only one left in the house. It feels so empty, without the random yells coming from downstairs.

Suddenly he hears the front door close and Sneaky pauses. He hears laughter and murmured speech filter through the floor of his room. The quiet becomes a little less suffocating, but it still feels... weird. Sneaky flips over away from the door and watches some stupid YouTube video. He has to rewind two times because he can't pay attention to what's happening. Belatedly, he realizes he's unconsciously tensed, listening for sounds, for footsteps. It's almost like he's expecting something, without realizing it. He doesn't know what exactly he's expecting, but he knows what he's hoping for.

Someone up there must be listening because there is a soft pattering of steps to his door. There's a knock, but before he even has enough time to respond, his door opens. The light from the hallway spills into his room, painting his bed orange. Sneaky doesn't turn around. There's only one person who doesn't care enough about privacy and social etiquette to just come in like that.

"You missed out," comes the bored-sounding tone of Cloud9's jungler. Or rather, ex-jungler. Sneaky winces, face still turned away from the door. "We had Korean BBQ. Shit was orgasmic."

Sneaky doesn't answer. Meteos sounds so damn normal. Like it was just any dinner, like it wasn't the last dinner before Meteos fucking moved out.

Sneaky tries to sound normal too. He's not sure it works. "Yeah, well. ‘S not like it’s-"

"Chipotle?" Meteos cuts in. "Yeah. I picked you up some on the way back."

That makes Sneaky turn around, and he looks up from his sideways vantage point on the bed to Meteos' figure in the doorway, his silhouette dark, hair looking even more golden in the light.

"You are a god," Sneaky says without thinking. His stomach rumbles again. He knows it's a peace offering, but it's a damn good one. "Come in and close the door," he says. His own peace offering.

Meteos closes the door but hovers awkwardly at the doorway for a few moments before deliberately stalking towards the bed. He sits on it and sets the Chipotle bag onto the floor by the bed. The room descends into darkness again. For a moment, it's pure silence.

Then they hear Jensen's loud laughter float up from downstairs and it's like a switch is flipped. They both relax, and Meteos lies back onto the bed, his lower body hanging off of it.

Sneaky rolls back onto his back as well, staring at the blank ceiling. He's aware of the closeness of Meteos. They're a foot apart, but Sneaky feels like he can feel Meteos' body heat. He's probably imagining it. Slowly, his eyes readjust to the darkness.

"Hey," Sneaky breaks the silence. "I'm sorry I didn't come to dinner. It wasn't... personal. Well. I mean. You know."

"I know."

They lapse back into silence. Sneaky wants to ask why Meteos came into his room, but some deeper part of him already knows. Sneaky fidgets slightly, fingers clenching and unclenching into fists at his sides. He expects Meteos to burst into some snarky joke or sarcastic comment at any moment, but the other male is uncharacteristically quiet. It doesn't feel right.

Sneaky finally breaks the silence. "Why didn't you tell me?" He'd expected his voice to sound annoyed, even mad, but instead it just sounds fragile.

Meteos sighs. "I wanted to," he says. "I didn't really know how."

"Maybe I'm talking crazy but a simple 'oh hey Sneaky I'm gonna quit the team' probably would have worked." Sneaky tries to recapture the light atmosphere they've always shared, the jokes and sarcasm that'd always run undercurrent to their conversations. But his heart is pounding, and he's not quite thinking before speaking. "Maybe then I wouldn't have been fucking blindsided by your announcement."

Meteos takes a breath. "Same."

And any other time that would've been okay, that would've been funny, just another nod to their numerous inside jokes. This time though, it feels like he's running away, every moment growing farther even though he's close enough to touch, if Sneaky wanted to.

"No, it's not the fucking same."

Meteos laughs. It doesn't sound pleasant. It sounds like the laugh he makes when he's found himself caught out on the other side of the map, in the enemy's jungle, with his flash down.

"I'm sorry," Meteos sighs at last. It's not a phrase he utters often. "I'm fucking sorry, alright? Satisfied?"

Despite the harsh words, he doesn't sound angry. Just tired, maybe almost as tired as Sneaky feels. He can hear Meteos' breathing quicken from beside him, his breaths sounding almost desperate. Of course they can't be, but in the darkness with every little sound echoing and amplified, Sneaky can imagine it. And right then and there, Sneaky forgives him. And really, he's always known he would. He can't not forgive his best friend, not after so many shared moments of dank memes and late night streams.

Still, he can't help but draw it out a little. "What? I didn't hear you."

Meteos snorts. It's too dark to see, but Sneaky knows he's rolling his eyes. "Yeah okay. Listen up, because I'm not going to say this again. I'm sorry."

"All cool, bro," Sneaky says. And because the mood has turned deceptively light, he teases, "I always wanted to know what having a good jungler felt like anyway."

Meteos laughs again, but it's short and sharp. And somehow, Sneaky must've read the situation wrong, because it sounds forced. Fuck. He should've realized it was too soon. No matter how much Meteos jokes and fucks around, he's still a fucking person.

"I-" he begins, but Meteos cuts him off.

"Forget it. You're right, anyway. It's for the best."

Sneaky doesn't remember the last time he heard Meteos sounding this dull. Maybe it was after the 6th game in a row they'd lost. Maybe it was after he had yet another shouting row with Lemon. Somewhere between then, maybe. But never this raw. Never this... lost.

Suddenly he has the strangest urge to reach out and touch the other male, close the last few inches of that gap. It's absurd. He hasn't ever thought about this before, at least... not when he's awake. But it's so dark in his room, and the noises from outside of it are muffled, muddled together enough that it just sounds like comforting white noise. The few slats of moonlight that peek into his room turn everything into an almost dreamlike quality. And because it's a dream, Sneaky tells himself, it's okay to voice what he hasn't told anyone, what he hasn't even admitted to himself.

"What am I going to do without your feeding ass?" he murmurs. It's both a rhetorical question and not. "Who else is going to meme with me when Charlie starts getting way too fucking serious?" He tries to make it sound like a joke, but honestly he's just tired, and his voice shows it.

"Jensen's been a pretty quick learner," Meteos offers.

This time it's Sneaky who laughs, softly and dully. It seems to echo in the dark room. Meteos turns his head then, so he's looking directly at Sneaky, who's still staring aimlessly at the ceiling. Sneaky feels the heat of his gaze prickle against his skin and he can't help but turn his head and meet Meteos’ gaze straight on. It feels too close. It'd been fine, when they'd been lying side by side looking up at a white ceiling, but now, looking at each other, the foot between them starts to feel like inches.

In his chest, Sneaky's heart pounds so loud that Meteos must hear it. The words tumble out of his mouth. "Don't tell anyone, but I'm going to miss you."

This time Meteos' laugh comes softly, quietly. Genuinely. "Same."

For a moment everything slots back into place. The world is normal again. It's Sneaky and Meteos against the world, ADC and jungler of Cloud 9, butthole brothers. Epic memers. He can almost hear the fans chanting in the background. But the moment breaks, and Sneaky's eyes shutter. Not anymore. Meteos is leaving. Cloud 9 is 9th place. It's over.

Then Meteos leans closer and suddenly his lips are brushing against Sneaky's. Sneaky freezes. They both freeze. He can't think. Everything is suddenly static. He couldn't move even if he wanted to. Then Meteos pulls back with a jerk, his eyes wide, looking guilty and panicked. This close Sneaky can see every emotion that flits through Meteos' eyes. Meteos is already backing off, breaths harsh and fast, looking around the room like he's looking for an escape plan, and something snaps inside Sneaky. He reaches out, closes the distance he couldn't earlier, grabs the back of the other male's head and pulls Meteos close into a crushing kiss.

He's never done this before with a guy, only once with a girl in 10th grade, and it was awkward and Sneaky could taste the onions she'd had at lunch. This... is a world apart. There's nothing awkward about it because Sneaky can't think enough to even remember what the word awkward means. It's not thought, just pure instinct that makes him press his lips into Meteos' urgently. It's a heat that flares in the bottom of his stomach that makes him open his lips, that makes him hungrily seek out Meteos' with his tongue.

Meteos' tongue sweeps across his lips, finds his tongue, and everything is white-hot heat. He feels sparks as Meteos kisses him with a desperation he hadn't been able to voice. Right now, there's nothing else. Just him, and the warm wetness of Meteos' tongue, the softness of his lips. It's unfair how fucking soft his lips are.

He's not sure how long the moment lasts. He just knows when it's over. A loud knock on the door cuts in through the dark and Sneaky and Meteos jolt apart.

"Yo Sneaky, you seen Meteos?" comes Hai's voice from right outside his door. Sneaky stares wordlessly at Meteos. Meteos' eyes meet his in a daze, his pupils so dilated, the blackness swallows all of the blue of his eyes. Sneaky can't remember to breathe.

"Sneaky?" Hai repeats.

Sneaky tries to remember how to form words with his mouth. With his oversensitive, swollen lips. "N-no," Sneaky yells back. "I haven't seen him."

The sound of footsteps slowly disappears as Hai walks away, and then it's just Sneaky and Meteos again. But something's changed, already. Now, with the re-introduction of the real world, a reminder this isn't a dream, the moment is broken.

Meteos moves quickly, almost tumbling off the bed. His eyes are downturned, looking anywhere but at Sneaky. "I better go." He stumbles over the Chipotle bag, the thing that started this whole mess, and then he's out the door in a rush.

The light blinds him for a split second before it's gone, and Sneaky once more lies on his bed in darkness, the afterimages of the bright light dancing in his eyes. They slowly fade as his eyes readjust to the darkness. Sneaky stares at the ceiling. His heart is still thudding in his chest, threatening to escape his ribs, almost as if it wants to leave too. He reaches out with numb fingers to touch his lips. They tingle.

The next morning Meteos is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? Should I continue? c:


	2. Bathrooms Have Such Great Atmospheres

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I was really surprised people actually liked this. Thank you guys for all your comments and support! I really appreciate it. So I wrote some more! Can't let you guys down. This chapter is a bit shorter though, sorry.

When Hai comes back, it starts to feel like the old days. When they were #1 in NA, when they’d go on endless winning streaks and never worry about throwing. Back then, they were untouchable, or very close to it. Every game felt… right. Logical. Like there were certain steps to a solution in sight, and one baron after another they’d reach victory.

Then Hai left and everything was a fucking mess. No more needs to be said there.

But now… Hai is back and everything _still_ feels like a fucking mess. Not in game, not so much. There’s no hesitation any more in the shot calls. There’s less questioning and more answering. Instead of, “Can we gank bot?” there’s “We’re ganking bot.” Everything is simpler. And harder at the same time, because it’s… not Meteos.

It feels strange, to be playing in a team so familiar and yet have that one thing changed. It’s like stepping down the stairs and finding there’s one less step than you thought, that second of vertigo as you try to regain your balance. And of course Meteos isn’t a fucking step on a staircase, that’s stupid. Meteos is… he’s… well, what the fuck is he? He’s not his teammate anymore. Meteos is… Sneaky’s friend, still. Mostly. They haven’t talked since he left, and it’s been a week of radio silence. Blankness, and Sneaky ends up throwing his HTC® phone across the room so he doesn’t keep checking it.

Cloud 9 scrims more than ever and that helps take his mind off of him but then there are the down times. The loading screen times. When he feels the silence so clearly that it’s like it’s physically there. He misses the “my asshole” comments from a desk away. Misses the solid feeling of Meteos’ presence, anchoring him. Misses the soft smile on Meteos’ face, the one he only showed when they were alone and he could let down his barrier of sarcasm and mockery.

0 notifications.

It’s almost habit, muscle memory for him to go to his texts and tap out a message to Meteos. **hey how are yo** But… no. He deletes that and tries again.

**yo dude things are so fucking boring here withou**

**balls is driving me up the wall with his vi**

**what happened that nigh**

**why haven’t you texted m**

In the end, he sends nothing at all.

League. Yes. Focus on League. Amidst all the… tiredness? Disappointment? (Fear?) that Sneaky feels, there’s also a small sprig of hope in his chest. Not large, not enough for him to stake his bets on, but definitely there. Maybe this will be season 3 LCS again, maybe they’ll regain their former glory, now dull and rusty with age. Seeing Cloud 9 in the lower half, actually the fucking lower quarter, of the standings still feels _wrong_. But maybe now, with a roster that is as much new as old, they have a chance. At least, that’s what Sneaky thinks.

Then they lose the first game. And the second.

It’s after the third loss that Sneaky feels the hope draining away. He’s alone in the bathroom of the LCS studio, staring at himself in the mirror while the tap runs idly, the sound of rushing water filling the room. He’s not sure why he’s here, in this moment, but he feels stuck.

The sound of the door opening shocks him out of his stillness, and he reaches to turn the water off. In the mirror, he sees Hai enter.

“Hey,” Hai says, rubbing a hand on the back of his head, the motion both awkward and endearing at the same time, because it’s _Hai_.

“Hey,” Sneaky answers, not turning around.

“We’re about ready to leave, so hurry up.” Just as in game, everything Hai says is commanding. But Sneaky doesn’t feel ready to obey, not right now.

When Hai sees him lingering at the sink, he frowns thoughtfully and then leans his side against the wall. He meets Sneaky’s eyes in the mirror and then says, “I didn’t want to bring this up right after the game, but…”

“But what?”

“But your performance today was disappointing.”

Sneaky reels back as if slapped. Hai is blunt, but this is… This feels too blunt, even for him. They talk about each other’s mistakes, they talk about how to improve, but they never just flat out call someone a fucking disappointment.

“Jesus, Hai. Tell us how you really feel, why don’t you.”

“Well, not your performance exactly,” Hai backtracks quickly. “Though that wasn’t your best.” Sneaky rolls his eyes. “Shut up. You know what I’m talking about,” Hai says.

“I do?” Sneaky knows he’s being intentionally obtuse, but there’s also a lot he doesn’t want to admit at this exact moment, in the bathroom for god’s sake.

“The dragon call, you cheeky little cunt,” Hai says, the words playful but his tone anything but. “You didn’t listen to me.”

Sneaky frowns. “Yeah… Sorry. I should’ve, you were right.”

“Damn straight.” A beat. Then, “Not just today, either. You’ve been playing like…” Hai strains to find the words, a rare thing for him. “Like you don’t want to listen to me.”

Sneaky can’t find the words to respond. He’s not sure “same” would be appropriate here. Instead, he turns on the water again, pretends to wash his hands for possibly the 3rd time.

“I know Meteos is gone, but-”

“What does Meteos have anything to do with this?” Sneaky snaps, and it's too late to take back so he meets Hai’s wide eyes and tries to pretend he’s not just as surprised as Hai is.

Hai blinks a couple times, but he’s never been one to be intimidated. He sure as hell never backs down, stubborn as he is. If anything, his eyes brighten in challenge. “Don’t pretend like he’s not affecting you.”

“He’s not.”

“I know he was- is your best friend. But he left the team for a reason.”

“I fucking know,” he bites back, his mind starting to feel numb. The word “was” repeats in his head. _Was. Was your best friend._ He feels a nagging sensation in the back of his mind, urging him to check his phone. He ignores it.

“I know you miss him.”

“Well duh,” Sneaky manages, throat feeling tight.

“But you can’t keep taking it out on me just because I’m not him. Can’t keep taking it out on the team.”

That stops Sneaky dead in his tracks. He turns and shuts off the water, and in the resulting quiet his quick breaths are too loud in the room. “I don’t,” he starts, but has to try again. “It’s not like I’m trying to lose on purpose.”

“I know,” Hai says without bite, in that special kind of Hai way that softens his words, makes them more palatable and logical, matter-of-fact. Hai could probably make a death sentence sound reasonable, nice even. And then, “It’s okay to miss him.”

Sneaky swallows and reaches for the paper towels, drying his hands. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Hai. Hai who is looking at him languidly, pose radiating calm. And it’s not like Hai knows anything about the situation between Sneaky and Meteos (and it’s fucking ridiculous it even needs to be called a situation), even though Hai always seems to fucking know everything, both in game and out of game. But he surely doesn’t know about the… the _thing_. And the reminder of what happened that night, the _thing_ , leaves him feeling empty. His fingers twitch at his pocket. Robotically, he finds himself walking past Hai, to the door. “I’ll do better,” Sneaky says. He leaves without waiting for an answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> METEOS WHY U NO TEXT SNEAKERS?! Jerk. Also, Hai's character is a bitch to get right. But anyway, let me know what you think!


	3. Pls Stahp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it's been so long... *ducks* But I dedicate this chapter to my lovely commenters, cause I honestly wouldn't have finished the chapter if it wasn't for you guys.
> 
> ALSO METEOS IS COMING BACK TO C9 AHHHH MORE MATERIAL FOR MY FIC haha jk I still haven't even gotten to playoffs or worlds or anything.

They win a couple games. Lose a few. It all starts to blur in Sneaky’s mind, which is the scariest thing.

Well no. The scariest thing is he can't bring himself to care, even though he knows he should. The never ending drive for the game, just... seems missing.

The things he ends up remembering – circling in his head during empty moments when walking back to lane or waiting for queue pops – are the little things. After the victory over Dignitas, shaking Kiwi's hand as he laughed goofily at him, happy as ever. The way Kobe smiles at him as they pass by in the hallway, his smile both kind and yet somehow off, as if he knows something Sneaky doesn’t. These are the things that he remembers, but doesn't understand. Or at least, he tries not to think about it enough so that he doesn’t have to understand.

Sneaky’s thinking (and not thinking about) this as he finishes up his stream, waiting for Lemon to come back with Chipotle. It’s weird telling someone other than Meteos his Chipotle order (double steak with white rice and black beans) but well, he has no choice. It’s just another thing he has to get used to, like not having to worry about keeping his headphones off one ear so Meteos doesn’t sneak up behind him and scare him. Or worry that he’s run out of conditioner before shampoo because Meteos keeps stealing it (“I can’t help it Sneaks, whatever makes your hair that soft is godly”). And how had Meteos known how soft his hair was anyway?

Sneaky reads out, “$3 from TSMFaker asking ‘will Meteos be coming back?’” He pauses. It’s probably the 500th question he’s gotten asking that and he responds the same way every time. “I don’t know.” Which is the truth. He kind of wants to tell everyone to stop asking but at the same time he feels like it would make the viewers wonder why he cares so much and why he’s so bothered and then maybe they would think that—

Okay, this is ridiculous. Right now in the chat there are a million Meteos invading Sneaky’s butthole copypastas. The sound of the door is a welcome distraction, and Sneaky grins at his webcam and flicks his bangs out of his face in the way that Meteos had dubbed “way too much like the Biebs”.

“Annnd that’s Lemon back with my Chipotle.” He ignores all the BibleThump’s in his chat and closes out his stream with a grin.

Then he turns to Lemon who greets him by tossing a bag at him. He fishes for the burrito with delight. It’s hot and burns his hand but heaven doesn’t come without some hardships. “Thanks Lemon,” he says, ripping the foil, and then begins to stuff his mouth.

After a moment, he calls, “Hey, Lemon. Did you get me steak instead of chicken?”

“Yeah, sorry if that’s not what you wanted, but I lost the note you wrote me and you weren't answering your phone.”

“Leee~moo~ooo~ooon,” Sneaky whines, but takes another bite.

“Hey, don't expect me to remember like 5 different orders,” Lemon rolls his eyes. “Be glad I got you your precious Chipotle.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sneaky says with his mouth full. Lemon mumbles something under his breath as he turns away.

As Sneaky takes more bites though, he realizes that something's off. It tastes strangely familiar. He stops suddenly, and looks down at the contents of the burrito. He'd told Lemon something new, but everything here seems to match what he normally gets. He peers in the bag. There’s guacamole on the side, okay that’s whatever, that’s normal enough, but there’s also sour cream on the side. He hadn’t said anything about that.

_You like spreading white stuff all over your burrito huh?_

Fuck. That. Maybe Lemon _had_ remembered what Sneaky liked to eat, or something. The idea that- that Lemon had phoned up Meteos, casually asking about Sneaky’s Chipotle order, and Meteos remembering every single fucking thing, that’s just stupid.

Completely, utterly stupid.

 

 

Sneaky’s waiting in champ select for the 5th scrim of the day. He taps at his keyboard impatiently. He just wants this to be over. The endless games, which had once made him so happy… It’s different now. How naïve he'd been, thinking playing in a team would be like getting to live with four best friends. How stupid. It's a job after all, just like any other.

"Sneaky what the fuck!"

Oh shit. He hadn't selected a champion. Fuck. He must really be more tired than he thought. "Uh, sorry guys. I wasn't paying attention..." he mutters, as they're returned back to the lobby. He types out a quick apology to the other team.

Jensen groans. "Stop watching porn and focus."

This is infinitely better than what he was thinking about before, so Sneaky turns so he can look Jensen in the eyes, and says with a grin, "What if it's porn of you?"

Jensen looks back at him, matching his gaze. He looks unimpressed, but the corners of his lips are twitching. "Damn you must really love it when I gank you."

Sneaky opens his mouth to retort, not quite sure what's going to come out but fairly sure it's going to be filthy.

Hai is having none of it. "Guys, I would really appreciate it if you kindly STOPPED FLIRTING AND FOCUS."

"Jeez," Lemon comments. "Did you skip your coffee, Hai?"

Sneaky snickers. "For someone who was so called 'forced' out of retirement, you sure sound pretty hyped about it."

"Shut up, Sneaky." Ah yes, a Hai classic. "I don't want to hear anything more from you. I thought maybe with Meteos gone you'd stop flirting buuuuuut guess anyone will do." Sneaky narrows his eyes, but Hai's not looking at him. It's just a joke, he tells himself.

"Do I need to call up Meteos and tell him you've been cheating on him?" Hai continues, smirking.

"Hai..." Lemon admonishes, perhaps sensing a line's just been stepped over.

The air that he breathes in feels stale. The idea of staying here for however many hours more, clicking and pretending that everything’s normal…  
His body moves before his mind decides. He's suddenly standing up, accidentally knocking his mouse off his desk. He suppresses a wince at the loud crack of the very expensive mouse hitting the floor. Well. Not like they don't have a closet full of mice just like that one.

The team looks at him, shocked. No one says anything, they just look at him as if expecting him to do something dramatic. Like shout or throw things or monologue. But this isn't a movie. Honestly, he's not even sure why he's currently standing, and not selecting champions with the rest of his team. All he knows is if he doesn’t get out of here, he’s going to go crazy.

His hands are shaking, so he clenches them into fists. He can feel the fingernails digging into his palms, and he concentrates on that, trying to anchor himself. His head feels light and fuzzy, like he's had slightly too much of the disgusting vodka Meteos liked to buy and all too often urged him to drink because "hey, drunk is drunk".

Sneaky opens his mouth to apologize, to say something, anything to explain why he's standing there awkwardly. But what comes out is, "I'm done." He blinks a little at himself because what the fuck? But he doesn't feel regret. The words feel right. Honestly, they feel like they were a long time coming.

Jensen gapes at him. "What do you mean, you're done?"

"I realize it's hard for you to understand, seeing as you're from EU and don't understand American. So I'll say it again. I'm done playing."  
Hai's disturbingly quiet. Lemon just looks disapprovingly at him from behind his glasses. It feels a bit like a father's disappointment and Sneaky doesn't really want to go there. And Balls... Well, Balls is Balls.

"Well, when are you going to get back from your little hissy fit so we can maybe practice not getting kicked out of the LCS?" Jensen snarks.

Sneaky... Doesn't really know how to respond. His mind is still soft at the edges, and thinking is getting more difficult by the moment.

Balls is the one who gets it, who asks him quietly, " _Are_ you going to come back?" In the corner of his eye, he sees Lemon giving Balls a questioning glance and Balls just shrugging.

"What do you mean come back?" Jensen asks, bewildered. "Of course he is-"

Hai cuts in, and yes, they all shut up to listen to him because it's kinda habit at this point. "Are you quitting the team?" he asks bluntly. There's no disappointment or judgment in his tone. He just sounds serious.

Sneaky takes a deep breath. Despite the whirlwind in his head, the sound of his heart pounding in his ears, he tries to concentrate. He thinks of the feeling of winning NALCS. The taste of Chipotle. Celebrating Lemon's birthday with a fucking lemon cake, which everyone except for Lemon found hilarious. The awkward silence after a particularly bad loss. The tightness in his chest when he looks at the standings. Waking up in the middle of the night after a bad loss and stumbling across Lemon in the kitchen, desperately scribbling in his notebook. Playing past the point of exhaustion until his eyes are blurry and his head hurts but somehow not missing a single cs. The pointlessness. The loneliness. The _kiss._

"I don’t know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LE GASP. I promise Meteos is going to be in the next chapter, like A LOT.


	4. Food is C9's Glue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking for a beta, so let me know if you're interested!

The laughter abruptly dies down as Sneaky walks into the room. None of the team stares at him, they wouldn't be that obvious, but suddenly the room is quiet. Hai taps out a message on his phone, and Lemon fiddles with the remote.

Right. That's fine.

Sneaky makes his way through the living room and into the kitchen, where he swings open the refrigerator door and just stops. The chill brushes against his face, and his mind is blank for what seems like the first time in days. There are no thoughts rushing through his head, battling for attention. No _should I shouldn’t I_. In fact, he’s completely forgotten what he’s come down here for.

Energy drinks. Sodas. Deli meats. The container marked “Balls” that’s been there for close to two weeks.

Sneaky shuts the fridge door quietly and leans back against the counter, waiting for his brain to catch back up. He’d woken up from a nap (tiredness is a state of being these days)… and had thought about whether he should finally talk to Hai about making a decision… but then he’d decided to put it off (yet again) and instead get a…

Oh right. Sneaky pulls open the freezer and takes out a package of Hot Pockets. In a household full of lazy gamers, microwavable meals are a staple. The only bad thing is the two minutes where he’s stuck here, watching the Hot Pocket spin inside the microwave and having nothing but the company of his thoughts in his head.

“Hey Sneaky.” Or that.

“Hey.”

Hai takes residence on the counter in front of him, sitting down in a way that is probably kind of unsanitary. “You know, if you’d had dinner with us you wouldn’t have to eat this crap.”

“I was sleeping. And don’t diss the Pockets, man.”

Hai smiles. It’s a smile that says _I’m humoring you_ and _you’re worrying me_ at the same time. Which is a hard feat to do, so Sneaky’s over imagining things again. “When are you gonna stop ignoring us, dude?”

“I’m not ignoring anyone.” The microwave reads 1:15. Hurry the fuck up.

Hai rolls his eyes. “You love In-N-Out.”

“Yeah, well.” He tries to think of something snarky and fails. He’s still sleepy.

“Great comeback, dude.”

“Shut up. And shut up to whatever you’re going to say next.” 0:55. Time had never felt so fucking slow.

“But seriously. I need to know if we should be looking for a replacement. It’s almost the end of the season, and every game counts.”

 _I fucking know_. “I wouldn’t— I wouldn’t just leave you guys in the middle of the season.” Hai looks away, as if they’re both thinking the same thing. The same person. “Either way, I’ll play till the end of the season.”

“And playoffs or the gauntlet or whatever the fuck it is this season?”

“Assuming we’re going to be able to play in it?”

Hai gives him a look as if to say _don’t be stupid_.

“I… yeah.”

Hai nods. “Then you better stop ignoring us so we can start scrimming again. I’ve had enough of solo q.”

“Tomorrow, okay?”

The microwave beeps and thank fucking god for that. Before Sneaky goes to retrieve his food though, Hai stops him with a hand. “Wait. Brought you back a burger.” A delicious smelling bag lands in his arms.

Sneaky gapes in awe. “Dude. I could totally suck your dick right now.”

Hai smirks. “Maybe tomorrow.”

As the microwave beeps out a needy reminder, Sneaky narrows his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me you brought back food earlier?”

“Would you have still stayed around to talk to me?” Hai grins.

“Two words. Master tactician.”

“They don’t call me shotcaller for nothin.”

“They don’t call you asshole for nothing either.”

Hai smacks Sneaky on the arm on his way out, a bit too hard. But whatever. Food makes everything better. Maybe it won’t fill the empty feeling in the pit of his stomach completely, but it’ll help.

Hai turns around at the cusp of the doorway. “You still have to make a decision, Sneaky.”

Sneaky swallows. The smell wafting from the bag is not nearly as appetizing as it’d been a minute ago. “I know.”

 

 

The good thing about the burger is it’s greasy and filling. And that’s good because Sneaky’s currently on his sixth shot, which his stream’s been peer pressuring him into. Sneaky’s never been one for fame, had never felt totally at ease with attention on him, but at this moment, with 30k viewers watching him because they _want_ to, he feels warm and relaxed, which is rare enough for him to savor it.

Oh, and also he’s a bit drunk.

He misses the queue pop twice because he’s too busy reading chat, watching it fly by in blurry letters. He’s trying to convince his viewers that no, nothing they say is going to make him drink anymore shut up, and yes he’s perfectly fine. Neither are strictly true.

He manages to click accept this time, because he is in flawless control of all his mental faculties, and then falters.

**C9 Meteos: jg pref**

For a moment, it feels like he’s back in a dream. He’s gripped with a sensation similar to riding a roller coaster, the slow climb up as the ground drops below him. The faint stirrings of nausea that had been lurking in the background ramp up. He waits for the fall.

Nothing about this moment makes sense. Even though in the back of his mind, Sneaky had known he was bound to come across his former teammate sometime, he’d never imagined sometime to be now. It’s 4AM, he’s the only one awake in the house, shit tons of people are watching him, and he’s fucking drunk.

Meteos had always been good at surprising him.

Sneaky contemplates saying hi, saying what’s up or hey dude like everything’s normal. Sneaky contemplates dodging and ending the stream. He does neither. Neither does Meteos.

First pick takes jungle, Sneaky takes ADC, third and fourth take mid and top, and Meteos is left with support. Sneaky doesn’t even need to look at his chat to know they’re begging him to Skype Meteos, so Sneaky decidedly doesn’t look at his chat. He doesn’t want to know if his chat is commenting on how they’re not talking, or if a video of this moment is going to be on reddit tomorrow. The beginnings of a headache creep up.

With a sigh, Sneaky reaches for the bottle again. He pauses for a second, staring at the label like it’s the first time he’s seen it. Meteos had given this to him, and he’d completely forgotten. In the wake of it all, one absence in his memory had hardly felt different from another. Sneaky doesn’t bother pouring it into the glass. He takes a swig, and it tastes like both a surrender and a wish. He regrets it a second later, when his head starts pounding.

Sneaky forgets to buy items, and so he has to go back and doesn’t get back in time to do Krugs, and so the other lane is up in experience, and so they all in lvl 2, and so he gives first blood.

Meteos doesn’t insult him, or poke fun. Not even one mention of giving a handicap to their opponent. Radio silence. Fuck it.

“If I die again,” Sneaky announces, slurring only a little, “I’ll take two shots.”

A donation chimes in a few minutes later. “if you drink any more you’ll probably choke on your vomit just as hard as C9 chokes in game”

 “Same,” Sneaky says, then bites his lip because the word feels wrong. It’s in that off-kilter moment that the enemy Leona manages to land her E, which is stupid because he’s Lucian and he has a _dash_. Sneaky and his support are already low but he just had to be greedy for the cannon minion and— fuck it blame it on the alcohol. He watches as his life bar dwindles to nothing, decides it’s useless to waste flash, but presses heal to maybe give his support a chance. Sneaky gives into his fate of grey screen and bitter alcohol.

Behind him, as the one and only cow, Meteos flashes into them with 100 HP, pulverizes, and knocks the enemy ADC away. Sneaky blinks because okay wow his support just committed suicide when Sneaky’s just going to die anyway.

The League gods are looking down upon him today. His life bar reads 3 HP, and his fingers are shaking from what is probably the alcohol, but Sneaky reaches his tower and he doesn’t die. As for Alistar…

**An ally has been slain.**

Sneaky stares at his screen for a second as his brain struggles to process what just happened. Before he can think about it too much, he presses enter and types “ty”.

**[09:59] C9 Meteos (Alistar): np**

That’s it. Weeks without talking to each other, and then this. Sneaky doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. His team’s far enough behind that Sneaky’s thinking about writing off the game, just going through the motions until 20 mins. His head’s killing him, and he can barely think straight. It also doesn’t help that Meteos is acting… odd.

Sneaky only notices it when he starts doing camps because he can’t stay in lane any longer. Meteos doesn’t roam, not even to ward. He just stays right by Sneaky’s side, less than a Teemo away. Sneaky moves toward red. Meteos moves toward red. Sneaky starts his recall. Meteos starts his recall. Sneaky cancels. Meteos cancels.

In the midst of this, they get invaded on, and Alistar blows absolutely everything. Sneaky narrowly escapes death again, and Alistar becomes beef.

The game drags on. Somehow they make it to late game. Meteos stays by his side the whole entire time. And somehow, even though the score is 3-17 and Meteos is 0/6/0, Sneaky has only died once. Still, it isn’t until Sneaky presses tab and sees that Alistar has built Locket, Mikael’s, and fucking Deathcap that he realizes Meteos is playing Protect-The-ADC-At-All-Costs. He furrows his brows because okay that’s nice of him bu—

Then it hits him. _That little fucker was listening to my stream!_ Sneaky doesn’t know if he says it or just thinks it, but he gives in to the smile tugging at his lips. The alcohol is really kicking in now because he feels flushed, but it doesn’t matter. The nexus explodes, and he doesn’t even blink. It’s all just background noise.

As soon as the defeat screen splashes onto his monitor, his cell phone starts buzzing. Sneaky takes one look at the caller ID and calls it a night for his stream, probably a record for how fast he ends it.

Sneaky takes a breath and picks up. “Hello?”

“Hi,” Meteos says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright I said there would be a lot of Meteos in this chapter but I kind of lied because this chapter was getting kind of long and I just wanted to post it. But at least you know what to expect in the next one. :P


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